


Your Peace

by anenigmaticsmile



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Blight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23765251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anenigmaticsmile/pseuds/anenigmaticsmile
Summary: Natia's search for the cure has brought her across the sea, where she runs into a particular group.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Brosca, Zevran Arainai/Female Brosca
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Your Peace

After the work is done – after the Blight is over and cleaned, the Crows set straight – Natia and Zevran leave Thedas. Natia is twenty-three and already the Song is growing loud in her mind. Three years of searching Thedas for a cure to the Calling, her Keep left in the hands of those she has tried to raise up as best she can, have left her with the knowledge that there is no cure. Not, at least, on this continent. So, she and Zevran hop ships, following leads buried in quiet questions, until she’s twenty-five and the sea has become as safe to her as the Stone, and then they are stepping off a cargo ship onto the earth of a land halfway across the world.

They’re quickly absorbed into the crowd, nothing spectacular in this world full of skins as brightly colored as the silks waving in the air. Zevran keeps his hand on the back of her shoulders, hip against her arm as they both fight to keep stride, look like they belong. Eventually they find a quiet inn, where the barkeep helps them figure out which of their mismatched coins will be accepted, and which would be better off sold for scrap.

Here, in this new land, answers come much more swiftly and clearly. It might be practice; it might be the way eyes slide over them like nowhere before. Here, elves walk with others with no sign anyone is surprised; dwarves serve as merchants and lawmakers. Tattoos are frequent too, adorning faces pink and brown and blue and green and – Natia feels free for the first time in her life. Zevran’s fingers twine loosely with hers. He agrees.

Time passes. They move through the world just as careful as ever.

And then they’re sitting in the tavern of their inn, talking lightly in their accented Trade, the tongue of home, the one only they speak. They look distracted foreigners, but they notice everyone who walks in the door. It’s second nature after a lifetime of fear. And that’s why Natia notices very distinctly as a little green hand sneaks into the pouch around her waist and flickers out a pair of gold in the time it takes Zevran to return with food for them both. She watches the little one scamper away, over into the side of a tired man, captivated in conversation with one of the little blue horned devils that are nearly commonplace.

And on their way up to their room, Natia gives Zevran a little touch on the arm, a silent message to go on without her. She takes little quiet steps to the table with the little girl. Not that she need bother – the group has doubled in size and their conversation has grown beyond even that. It’s no surprise, then, when the little girl – green, yes, with ears for-too-large just poking out from her hood – jumps nearly a foot in the air.

“Shh,” Natia chides. Puts a small handful of hard-earned gold on the table. “This is for you. Figure anyone filch-stealing from a neighbor’s belt needs it more than me.”

There is confusion and there are protests from the man next to the girl, and the other man, the one who is blue and green together.

“Nonsense,” Natia insists, “But I’m called Natia if you need anything else.”

Zevran doesn’t begrudge her this. They both know what it’s like to be small and hungry.

Then something weird happens. Natia and Zevran keep travelling, following the little leads when they crop up, but more frequently just trying to help on whatever calamity they run across. And it seems the group- the ones who call themselves the Mighty Nein, a joke that is lost across four languages – it seems these are doing the same. 

And that’s how they all end up sitting tensely around the same fire, minutes after Natia and Zevran decided that a respectful distance is worth less than the protection of numbers and a fire.

Years before, Natia would have been fast to introduce herself, but she’s old and damaged. So, it’s the little blue one and the one wearing blue who start the conversation. Jester introduces herself bouncingly. Beau holds her back with tense, protecting questions.

“My name is Natia,” she introduces herself again to this group, “Natia Brosca. That’s my Zevran. We’re just passing through.”

They take their own watches that night. Neither group trusts the other, though Natia is close.

After an uneventful night, they share a small breakfast. The Nein have ale and porridge and days-old pastry. Natia burrows into Zevran’s side as she offers some of their bread and cheese, which are greedily grabbed up by little hands.

She gives answer to Caleb’s questioning look. She doesn’t know how not to help. And they would have split up after that, but they’re headed in the same direction. They’re all just trying to save their pieces of this world.

[Caleb is Natia’s answer – not that she knows this now.]


End file.
